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AN    ADDRESS 


BY    THE 


REV.  GEORGE  W.  PEPPER, 


Chaplain  40th   U.S.I. 


DELIVERED    AT 


RALEIGH,  NORTH  CAROLINA 


DECEMBER    20th.     ISO;. 


BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED    BY    PATRICK    DONAHOE, 

19    &   21    FRANKLIN    STREET. 

1    8    G  8. 


— -*-*££ 


$rcIiraiL..f  ihcrfn  springs  front  fjcr  Parip*  IIooIj. 


AN    ADDRESS 


BY  Til  10 


REV.  GEORGE  W.  PEPPER, 

CI  tap  lain  40  Hi  U.S.  I. 


DELIVERED    AT 


RALEIGH,   NORTH    CAROLINA, 


m:<  EM  it  EM   90th ,    1897* 


BOSTON: 

TUBLISIIED    BY   PATRICK   DONA1IOK, 

19  &  21    FUANKLIN   STREET. 
18G8. 


t4£ 


ADDRESS. 


Mr.  President: 

You  have  done  me  the  honor  to  request  that  I  should 
speak  to-night  on  "  Ireland,"  and  I  consider,  therefore,  that  it  is 
my  duty  to  put  you  in  possession  of  my  opinions  on  a  subject  that  is 
now  agitating  the  British  Government,  and  will  continue  to  agitate 
until  justice  is  done  to  the  Irish  nation — a  justice  demanding  the 
utter  destruction  of  that  flag  which  has  floated  for  centuries  over  the 
bones  of  a  murdered  people.  My  theme,  then,  is  Ireland,  the  land 
of  our  affections  and  our  hopes.  There  was  a  time  when  it  was 
considered  an  evidence  of  utter  degradation  for  a  man  to  avow  that 
he  was  a  native  of  that  distant  and  beloved  isle.  There  was  a  time 
when,  even  in  your  beautiful  city  of  Ilaleigh,  the  irresistible  pen  of 
a  distinguished  politician,  a  name  known  and  honored  throughout 
the  land  for  staunch  fidelity  to  the  Union  and  civil  liberty,  had  to  be 
wielded  in  vindication  of  the  rights  of  foreign  born  citizens  under 
the  Constitution  and  the  laws.  Thank  God — and  I  say  it  with  a 
rejoicing  heart — those  dark  periods  have  passed  away,  and  the 
thinking  men  of  all  classes  are  now  eager  to  do  justice  to  that  coun- 
try, to  which  much  of  the  prosperity  and  glory  of  this  great  nation  is 
due.  Ireland,  heroic,  illustrious  island  ! — once  a  word  of  reproach, 
veined  with  sneering  irony,  only  spoken  of  by  some  religious 
bigot  in  a  sermon,  or  by  some  marrowless  politician  on  the 
stump  to  cover  it  with  slander  and  abuse.  History  has  written 
it  as  our  proudest  eulogy.  Geographically  considered,  it  is  but 
a  small  island,  with  an  area  of  thirty-two  thousand  miles,  and  yet 
to  most  of  her  sons,  scattered  over  the  earth's  wide  surface, 
there  is  an  indescribable  charm  and  fascination  in  the  very  name. 
There  are  so  many  delightful  associations  over  which  one  lingers  in 
enthusiastic  love,  and  which  suggests  to  the  mind  illustrious  memories 
of  a  time  when  it  produced  warriors,  poets,  saints  and  orators.     The 


4040 


climate  is  so  charming,  the  scenery  is  so  full  of  noble  beauties,  the 
soil  is  so  fruitful,  the  men  so  brave,  and  the  women  so  fair,  and  the 
whole  people  so  brimful  of  wit  and  of  a  generous  hospitality,  that 
even  the  iron-hearted  Cromwell  exclaimed,  while  viewing  the 
beautiful  valley  of  the  Nore  from  the  cupalo  of  St.  Canice,  "Behold, 
here  indeed  is  a  land  worth  fighting  for  !" 

Geographers  tell  us  that  the  world  may  be  divided  into  two 
hemispheres,  one  of  water  and  the  other  of  land.  Ireland  is  the 
centre  of  the  land  hemisphere.  A  most  admired  poet  says  "  that 
her  back  is  turned  to  Britain,  and  her  face  to  the  West,"  indicating 
that  Ireland  is  favorably  situated  to  become  the  great  entrepot  of  the 
commerce  between  Europe  and  America.  The  Irish  claim  that  the 
glory  of  discovering  this  continent  belongs  to  one  of  their  saints,  St. 
Brenden,  and  that  Ireland  was  the  first,  as  she  is  now,  the  most 
friendly  and  trusted  ally  of  the  great  Republic.  That  no  other 
country,  visited  by  travellers,  approaches  Ireland  in  natural  attrac- 
tions, is  the  belief  of  every  Irishman.  Where  else  do  we  behold  so 
many  great  and  characteristic  features  ?  where  such  mountains  as  the 
magnificent  chain  of  the  Connemaras  ?  where  gardens  so  sylvan  and 
lovely,  with  winding  walks,  like  those  in  forests,  fountains  and 
springs  ?  where  lakes  like  those  of  Killarney,  where  savage  wildness 
ceases  to  be  terrible,  because  it  is  inconceivably  lovely  ?  where 
cathedrals  and  churches  of  such  grandeur  and  awe-inciting  vastness  ? 
where  such  a  soil,  fruitful  enough  to  support  fifteen  millions  of 
people  ?  where  else  can  we  feel  in  every  air  which  blows  the  spirit 
of  health,  the  freedom  from  the  world — the  communion  with  one's 
self? 

Glorious  old  Ireland — the  temple  of  nature  where  man  casts  off 
for  a  time  all  thoughts  but  of  her,  and  drinks  deep  of  the  purest  and 
loftiest  sources  of  enjoyment — mighty  and  grand  in  thy  unrivalled 
beauties ;  wonderfully  beautiful  in  thy  enchanting  loveliness,  and 
thy  mountains  noble  and  magnificent  images  of  eternal  power  and 
grandeur. 

"  The  Niobe  of  nations !  there  she  stands 
Childless  and  crownless  in  her  voiceless  woe ; 

An  empty  urn  within  her  withered  hands, 
Whose  holy  dust  was  scattered  long  ago." 

Ireland  is  a  heroic  nation.  The  records  of  liberty  are  full  of  the 
praise  of  Irish  valor.  Satirical  Voltaire,  the  cynic  of  the  human 
race,  may  ridicule  their   gallantry,  saying  they  fight  everybody's 


•5 

battles  but  their  own.  Can  Greece,  Rome,  Switzerland,  Holland, 
or  even  America,  present  more  glorious  fields,  or  more  gallant 
struggles  for  freedom  ?  Their  sieges  are  so  many  eulogisms,  the 
most  heroic  are  those  of  Derry,  where  the  brave  Walker  held  out 
against  pestilence,  famine,  death,  until  God  himself  fought  for  him ; 
and  that  of  Limerick  where  the  immortal  Sarsfield  splendidly  defied 
the  .bullets  of  the  enemy.  "  Show  me  the  man,"  said  the  Queen  of 
Navarre,  "  that  tells  the  nations  that  I  am  beautiful,  that  I  may 
shower  honors  upon  him."  We  love  Davis  for  singing  of  Ireland's 
charms  : — 

"  Oh!  she  is  a  rich  and  rare  land !  Oh!  she  is  a  fresh  and  fair  land; 
She  is  a  true  and  de.ar  land,  this  native  land  of  mine." 

The  patriot  Irishman  loves  to  refer  to  the  glorious  period  of  the 
United  Irishmen — producing  a  host  of  brilliant  men,  among  them 
poor  Emmet,  the  beau  ideal  of  a  soldier,  a  patriot,  and  a  man.  Pity 
smiles  through  her  tears  on  the  strange  and  chequered  scenes  of  his 
life  in  connection,  not  only  with  the  scaffold,  which  he  made  radiant 
and  glorious  as  the  cross,  but  also  the  tender  and  touching  separation 
from  him  of  the  young  and  beautiful  daughter  of  a  well  known  Irish 
barrister. 

"  It  was  the  evening  of  a  lovely  day ;  a  young  and  beautiful  girl 
stood  at  the  prison  gate,  and  desired  admittance  into  the  dungeon. 
She  was  closely  vailed,  and  the  keeper  could  not  imagine  who  she 
was,  nor  that  any  one  of  such  proud  bearing  should  be  an  humble 
suppliant  at  the  prison  door.  However,  he  granted  the  boon,  led 
her  to  the  dungeon,  opened  the  massive  door,  then  closed  it  again, 
and  the  lovers  were  alone.  He  was  leaning  against  the  prison  wall, 
with  a  down-cast  head,  and  his  arms  were  folded  upon  his  breast. 
Gently  she  raised  the  vail  from  her  face,  and  Emmet  turned  to  gaze 
upon  all  that  earth  contained  for  him,  the  girl  whose  sunny  brow,  in 
the  days  of  his  boyhood,  had  been  his  pole  star ;  the  maiden  who 
made  him  think  the  world  was  all  sunshine.  The  clanking  of  his 
chains  sounded  like  a  death  knell  to  her  ears,  and  she  wept  like  a 
child.  Emmet  said  but  little,  yet  he  pressed  her  to  his  heart.  In  a 
low  voice,  he  besought  her  not  to  forget  him  when  he  was  gone.  He 
spoke  of  by-gone  days  ;  the  happiness  of  childhood,  when  his  hopes 
were  bright  and  glorious. 

"  Hark  !  the  church  bell  sounded,  and  he  remembered  the  hour  of 
separation.     The  jailor  entered,  and  after  dashing  the  tears  from  his 


eyes,  he  separated  them  from  their  long  embrace,  and  led  the  lady 
from  the  dungeon.  At  the  entrance  she  turned  ;  their  eyes  met ; 
they  could  not  say  farewell.  The  door  swung  upon  its  heavy  hinges, 
and  they  parted  forever.  The  next  day,  a  pale  girl,  with  golden 
hair,  lay  upon  the  bed  of  death.  O  !  it  was  hard  for  her  to  die  in 
that  beautiful  Erin,  where  the  flowers  bloom  and  the  balmy  air 
comes  freshly  to  the  pining  soul.  O  !  no,  her  star  was  set,  her  heart 
was  broken ! 

"  When  ties  have  been  formed  upon  earth,  what  is  more  heart- 
rending and  agonizing  to  the  spirit  than  to  find  the  beloved  is 
snatched  away,  and  all  our  love  given  to  a  passing  floweret. 
Enough,  she  died,  the  betrothed  of  Robert  Ernmett." 

The  muse  of  Byron  has  immortalized  the  maid  of  Saragossa  ;  why 
should  the  amiable  Sarah  Curran,  the  betrothed  of  Robert  Emmett, 
be  denied  equal  honors  ?  The  story  of  the  bridge  of  Wexford,  where 
so  many  dauntless  hearts  suffered  a  cruel  death  by  the  remorseless 
soldiery  ;  and  the  recent  butchery  in  Manchester,  where  three  young 
Irishmen  were  strangled  to  death,  show  the  desperate  fidelity  with 
which  the  sons  of  Erin  cling  to  the  unconquered  purpose  of  securing 
independence  for  the  land  of  their  fathers.  Where  in  the  annals  of 
nations  do  we  find  such  calm  and  dignified  heroism  in  the  very 
presence  of  death  ?  The  murder  of  these  gallant  men  has  rung  the 
death-knell  of  English  domination  in  Ireland.  From  the  depths  of 
a  million  Irish  hearts,  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  the  cry  of 
vengeance  has  gone  forth.  There,  in  the  very  heart  of  brutal 
England,  these  young  heroes,  lifted  up  their  dying  voices,  kept  their 
flags  flying  and  broke  forth  in  electric  enthusiasm  with  the  anthem — 
"  God  save  Ireland ! "  Eternal  honor  to  their  memories.  They 
leave  behind  them  stainless  names.  To  them  be  applied  the  lines  of 
Arnold,  for  they  realized  the  bold  and  beautiful  sentiments  they 
express : 

"  Charge  once  more,  then,  and  be  dumb, 
Let  the  victors  when  they  come, 
When  the  forts  of  folly  fall, 
Find  your  bodies  by  the  wall." 

If  the  cause  of  Ireland  is  not  just,  then  there  is  no  justice  in  earth 
or  Heaven.  For  centuries  her  children  have  been  kept  in  bondage 
the  most  cruel  and  degrading — the  caves  and  fastnesses  of  the  moun- 
tains have  been  their  hiding  place  against  the  ferocious  despotism 


that  sought  their  destruction.     Famines  of  recent  years,  inflicted  by 
a  British  Providence,  deprived  Ireland  of  more  than  two  millions  of 
her  children.     In  one  year  alone,  thirty-three  thousand  houses  were 
levelled  to  the  ground  by  the  Crowbar  Brigade,  and  their  inmates 
turned  out  on  the  roads  to  die  of  starvation  and  exposure.     Fifty 
thousand  were  butchered  by  England  in  '98.     The  old  passion  has 
again  seized  the  tyrant,  and  Irish  blood  has  flowed  once  more.     The 
three  last  consecrated  martyrs  of  our  race,  whose  daring  and  out- 
spoken words  on  the  scaffold,  have  enrolled  their  names  in  the  vast 
pantheon  of  freedom's  champions.     These  men  were  not  murderers. 
Back  in  your  face,  as  a  London  editor  truly  says,  oh,  England,  the 
foul  stigma,  which  you  cast  upon  our  butchered  countrymen,  isfluno-. 
France  will  not  hear  it.     America  will  not  list  to  it ;  the  world  will 
hold  you  guilty.     Ireland,  bleeding,  beggared,  trampled  down  in  the 
earth,  tells  you  that  our  three  young  countrymen,  whose  blood  you 
deliberately  and  wantonly  shed,  were  true  patriots.     Irish  blood  for 
many  months  has  been  thirsted  for,  and  blood  has  at  last  slaked  the 
thirst  of  the  foul  natures  that   yearned  for  it.     The  names  of  the 
illustrious  triumvirate,  Allen,  O'Brien  and  Larkin,  rise  to  the  lips 
like  a  litany — their  devotion  to  Ireland  can  never  be  forgotten  until 
the  sun  turns  into  blood,  and  God  ceases  to  rule  in  Heaven  !     From 
the  memorable  day  when  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  died  in  prison, 
exclaiming — "  D — n  you,  come  on  /"  down  until  the  strangulation  of 
these  Christian  patriots,  Irish  blood  has  often  called  for  vengeance. 
Young   Allen,  as  he  marched  to  the  scaffold,  asked,    "what  will 
America  say  when  she  hears  of  it."     As  Poland  looks  to  France,  as 
the  Christian  looks  to  Palestine,  so  Ireland  looks  to  America.     But 
while  we  talk  the  dead  are  resting  in  their  shrouds,  and  the  living 
are  mourning  over  them.     They  laid  down  their  lives  for  Ireland, 
and  though  we  cannot  kneel  upon  their  graves,  or  trace  one  fond 
line  to  their  memories,  yet  their  memories  will  always  be  green  to 
the  thousands  who  loved  them  and  mourned  them  for  Ireland's  sake. 
The  eloquent  Gladstone,  in  his  recent  speech,  ascribes  Fenianism 
and  all  the  troubles  of  Ireland  to  the  misgovernment  and  oppression 
of  England.     Ireland  complains  that  her  land  for  hundreds  of  years 
has  been  deemed  legitimate  plunder  for  the  rapacious  and  needy 
servants  of  the  British  crown.     She  complains  that  the  most  cruel 
tortures  and  the  most  savage  measures  have  been  used  to  force  on  her 
people  a  detested  Church,  where  its  members  only  form  one  twen- 


8 

tieth  part  of  the  population ;  that  Henry  the  Second  put  the  people 
to  death  because  they  did  not  want  to  be  Catholics  ;  that  Henry  the 
Eighth  did  the  same  because  they  would  not  become  Protestants ; 
that  Cromwell  the  saint, 

"  The  mildest  mannered  man 

That  ever  scuttled  ship  or  cut  a  throat," 

put  them  to  the  sword  because  they  were  loyal  to  the  king. 

She  complains  that  Elizabeth  fomented  revolts,  murdering  a 
million  of  the  Irish,  in  order  that  there  might  be  estates  enough  for 
each  importunate  courtier. 

She  complains  that  an  English  king  stole  the  Earl  of  Desmond's 
estate,  six  hundred  thousand  acres — that  James  the  First  seized  six 
counties ;  that  eight  million  acres,  two-thirds  of  the  island,  were 
distributed  among  the  supporters  of  Cromwell. 

She  complains  that  William  of  Orange,  he  of  glorious  memory, 
turned  out  four  thousand  families  to  die  upon  the  road,  and  then 
established  a  penal  code  worthy  of  Herod. 

She  complains  that  the  Second  George  disfranchised  five-sixths  of 
her  population,  drove  a  hundred  thousand  to  the  army  of  France. 

She  complains  that  her  clergy  were  hunted  and  massacred. 

She  complains  that  seven  [millions  of  money,  supported  by  a 
hundred  thousand  bayonets,  united  Ireland  to  England. 

She  complains  that  millions  of  tithes  are  wrung  from  an  over- 
worked peasantry  to  support  a  miserable  set  of  sporting  bishops. 

She  complains  that  when  the  sword  failed  to  exterminate,  that 
England,  the  Christian  nation,  the  Empire  of  Hell,  organized  peri- 
odical famines  in  the  years  1817,  1831, 1837, 1847,  reducing  Ireland 
from  a  population  of  eight  millions  to  half  that  aggregate. 

She  complains  that  the  frightful  wars  of  1641,  the  revolt  of  1798, 
and  the  insurrection  of  1848  were  created  by  England  for  the 
extirpation  of  the  Celtic  race. 

She  complains  that  confiscation,  banishment,  and  the  gibbet,  have 
been  used  by  the  Government  of  England,  for  the  speedy  and  com- 
plete destruction  of  the  Irish  people. 

She  complains  that  for  five  hundred  years  the  flower  of  every 
generation  of  Irishmen  have  been  killed  on  the  battle  fields,  or  mur- 
dered on  the  scaffold,  or  driven  into  desolate  exile  for  love  of  Ireland. 
She  complains  that  the  sacred  charter  of  manhood,  without  which 


9 

our  life  is  lower  than  the  dogs,  is  trampled  under  the  feet  of  her 
foreign  lords. 

Ireland,  in  the  face  of  Europe,  in  the  face  of  America,  in  the  face 
of  the  great  Creator,  is  amply  justified  in  entering  upon  a  war  with 
England ;  the  people  can  do  so  with  a  free  conscience  and  a  full 
assurance  that  it  is  Heaven's  work.  It  has  been  truly  and  forcibly 
said,  by  a  powerful  writer,  that  it  is  no  light  or  factious  quarrel. 

It  is  Ireland's  last  resource,  long  evaded,  long  postponed.  The 
rights  which  she  sought  in  vain  to  purchase  with  her  tears,  she 
springs  up  at  last  to  purchase  with  her  heart's  blood.  In  the  coming 
onset  the  Irish  people  will  have  the  sympathies  of  the  true  and 
good.     The  earth  is  weary  of  their  groans  ! 

They  fight  for  liberty  to  live.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  Irishmen 
would  again  die  in  the  tortures  of  famine  if  they  continue  to  bow 
their  necks  to  the  Parliament  of  England  !  They  fight  for  liberty  to 
retain  the  rights  of  manhood — that  in  common  with  every  nation  in 
Europe,  they  may  possess  arms  to  defend  themselves.  They  fight 
to  resist  outrages  more  grievous  and  dishonoring  than  those  for 
which  an  English  King  was  brought  to  the  block — outrages  which 
at  this  hour  would  cause  the  swords  of  France  to  spring  from  their 
scabbords  to  strike  dead  their  audacious  author.  They  fight  because 
they  are  denied  peace  except  at  the  price  of  dishonor — because  their 
hero  leaders  are  doomed  to  the  prison  and  to  the  gallows.  They 
fight  because  the  honor,  the  interest,  the  happiness,  the  necessity,  the 
very  existence  of  that  ancient  nation  depends  upon  the  valor  of  the 
present  time.  If  the  Irish  at  home  cower,  flinch,  or  falter,  then  the 
hopes  are  gone  for  which  their  fathers  gave  their  life's  blood.  Gone 
in  the  stench  of  dishonor  and  infamy  that  will  cling  to  it  forever. 
In  God's  name  let  the  struggle  begin.  Oh !  that  my  words  could 
burn  like  molten  metal  through  your  veins,  and  light  up  the  ancient 
heroic  daring  which  would  make  each  Irishman  a  Leonidas — each 
battle-field  a  Marathon — each  pass  a  Thermopylae ! 

In  the  Legislative  halls  of  the  Government,  it  has  been  asserted 
that  Ireland  is  unworthy  of  her  independence,  because  forsooth  some 
recreant  Irishmen  in  this  country,  have  steadily  acted  with  and 
voted  for  the  slave  lords  of  the  South.  That  Ireland  is  the  friend 
of  oppression,  in  any  form,  is  false.  While  other  nations  became 
rich  and  powerful  by  the  sale  of  human  beings,  to  the  immortal 
honor  of  Ireland  be  it  stated  that  no  slave  ship  dared  ever  to  enter 
her  harbors.    The  greatest  of  dead  Irishmen  was  Daniel  O'Connell. 


10 

Like  Berryer  and  Mirabeau,  lie  was  the  orator  of  great  masses  of 
men.  He  struck  down  to  the  very  earth,  at  a  single  blow,  the 
rampant  rhetoric  of  those  who  defended  slavery  in  the  English 
House  of  Commons.  The  advocates  of  oppression  retreated  and 
quailed  before  him.  Hear  what  he  said  years  ago  when  the  slave, 
Frederick  Douglas,  was  introduced  to  him  in  Conciliation  Hall. 
This  was  a  grand  speech — as  sublime  a  warning  against  oppression 
as  ever  fell  from  the  lips  of  any  Reformer.  It  was  finely  delivered, 
overwhelming  in  its  logic,  majestic  in  its  rhetoric,  biting  in  its 
sarcasm,  melting  in  its  pathos,  and  burning  in  its  rebukes.  "  I  have 
been  assailed  for  attacking  the  American  institution — negro  slavery. 
I  am  not  ashamed  of  that  attack.  I  do  not  shrink  from  it.  I  am 
the  advocate  of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  all  over  the  globe.  And 
wherever  tyranny  exists,  I  am  the  foe  of  the  tyrant.  Wherever 
oppression  exists,  I  am  the  foe  of  the  oppressor.  Wherever  slavery 
rears  its  head,  I  am  the  enemy  of  the  system.  1  am  the  friend  of 
liberty  in  every  clime,  class,  and  color.  My  sympathy  with  distress 
is  not  confined  to  my  own  green  Isle.  No !  It  extends  itself  to 
every  corner  of  the  earth.  My  heart  walks  abroad,  and  wherever 
the  miserable  are  to  be  succored  or  the  slave  to  be  set  free,  there  my 
spirit  is  at  home  and  there  I  delight  to  dwell." 

Glorious  Emancipator  !  These  are  noble  words  and  nobly  spoken. 
O'Connell  was  in  his  happiest  mood.  The  fire  of  Freedom  was 
burning  in  his  mighty  heart.  The  eloquent  Douglas  sat  like  a  statue. 
How  his  heart  throbbed  and  his  eyes  flashed  as  the  Liberator 
pronounced  this  vivid  and  powerful  address ! 

Here  is  another  blast  from  O'Connell's  bugle  : — "  If  there  be  in 
the  huts  of  Africa,  or  amidst  the  swamps  of  the  Carolinas,  a  human 
being  panting  for  freedom,  let  it  be  proclaimed  to  him  that  he  has 
friends  in  Ireland.  A  voice  shall  be  raised  in  the  old  Irish  nation 
which  will  roll  back  in  thunder  to  America,  which  will  mingle  with 
her  mighty  waves,  and  which  will  cause  one  universal  shout  of 
liberty  to  be  heard  throughout  the  world.  My  humble  words  shall 
make  way  against  the  Western  breezes ;  they  shall  ascend  the 
Mississippi,  they  shall  descend  the  Missouri,  they  shall  be  heard 
along  the  banks  of  the  Ohio  and  of  the  Potomac,  till  the  black  man 
would  leap  with  delight  to  express  his  gratitude  to  those  who  had 
effected  his  emancipation.  And,  oh !  (But  perhaps  it  was  his  pride 
that  dictated  the  hope  that  some  black  Q  Connell  might  rise  among 


11 

his  fellow-slaves  who  would  cry),  '  Agitate !  agitate !  till  the  four 
millions  learned  the  secret  of  their  strength.'"  The  voice  of 
O'Connell  shall  be  heard,  to  use  his  own  magic  words,  "riding 
against  the  blast  as  thunder  goes,  and  telling  the  slave  that  the  time 
for  his  emancipation  has  come,  and  his  oppressor,  that  the  period  of 
his  injustice  is  soon  to  terminate."  How  he  lashes  the  villany 
loathes  the  hypocrisy,  excoriates  sham  republicans  and  spurious 
Christians. 

My  fellow-countrymen,  think  of  these  words  of  O'Connell,  Ireland 
incarnate. — Think  of  all  that  he  has  said — think  of  it  till  your  bosom 
swells,  your  soul  is  on  fire,  your  pulses  thrill  with  excitement. 
Thomas  Francis  Meagher,  the  most  accomplished  and  talented 
Irishman  who  ever  made  this  country  his  home,  was  the  first  General 
of  the  Union  army  to  declare  for  negro  suffrage.  He  said,  speaking 
of  negro  soldiers  :  "  By  their  fidelity  and  splendid  soldiership,  such 
as  at  Fort  Wagner  and  Port  Hudson,  gave  to  their  bayonets  an 
irresistible  electricity.  The  black  heroes  of  the  army  have  not  only 
entitled  themselves  to  liberty,  but  to  citizenship  ;  and  the  Democrat 
who  would  deny  them  the  rights  for  which  their  wounds  and  glorified 
colors  so  eloquently  plead,  is  unworthy  to  participate  in  the  greatness 
of  the  nation,  whose  authority  these  disfranchised  heroes  did  so 
much  to  vindicate." 

Right,  brave  Meagher ! 

When  Douglas  escaped  from  the  grip  of  slavery,  he  went  to 
Ireland,  landing  at  Cork.  He  had  a  triumphal  reception  from  the 
city  authorities.  A  magnificent  procession  was  formed,  headed  by 
several  fyands  of  music,  and  Douglas,  though  sitting  in  a  carriage 
with  Father  Mathew,  was  taken  out  and  carried  to  the  banqueting 
hall  on  the  shoulders  of  the  multitude.  A  feature  of  the  ovation 
was  a  colored  boy  and  an  Irish  boy  chained  together,  typical  of 
the  enslavement  of  the  two  races.  Love  of  liberty  is  inherent  in 
the  breast  of  every  Irishman.  The  antipathy  of  some  of  our  race 
to  the  negroes  has  its  origin  in  the  teaching  of  England.  "  Wherever 
the  English  have  ruled,  prejudice  against  color  exists.  In  Spain, 
France,  Mexico,  it  does  not  exist.  The  Turcos  are  popular  with  the 
French,  and  yet  they  are  black."  Courage,  then,  my  countrymen, 
for  the  right,  the  beautiful  and  the  true.  Have  we  not  sworn  fidelity 
to  liberty  in  a  thousand  passionate  words,  by  our  poets  and  orators, 
in  the   grave   resolves  of  councils,  leagues,   and   confederations  ? 


12 

Stand  by  the  Union  party — the  party  of  patriotism,  the  party  of 
progress,  the  powerful  party  that  abolished  slavery,  squelched  rebel- 
lion, and  established  the  integrity  and  grandeur  of  the  national 
domain. 

The  comic  preacher  of  Brooklyn,  Ward  Beecher,  in  his  recent 
Thanksgiving  Sermon,  took  occasion  to  indulge  in  ironical  allusions 
to  the  Irish'" race — calling  the  European  emigrants,  particularly  the 
Celts,  "  a  black  vomit."  Though  our  countrymen  have  contributed 
so  much  by  their  energy  and  enterprise  to  the  wealth  and  greatness 
of  the  country ;  though  their  blood  was  poured  out  in  torrents  on 
every  battlefield  of  the  Union,  adding  brighter  lustre  to  the  stripes, 
and  making  the  stars  of  our  time-honored  flag  shine  with  keener 
splendor ;  though  they  have  sworn  fidelity  to  the  fortunes  of  the 
nation  in  many  a  fierce  tempest  of  the  Mexican  and  Indian  wars ; 
though  their  blood  fattens  every  valley,  and  their  bones  bleach  on 
every  mountain,  from  Bunker  Hill  to  the  city  of  Mexico ;  though 
they  have  written  a  vindication  of  their  loyalty  in  their  heart's 
blood  at  Fort  Donelson,  Stone  River,  Corinth,  Chattanooga,  Malvern 
Hill,  Antietam,  Resaca,  Atlanta,  Gettysburg,  Fair  Oaks,  Petersburg 
and  Fredericksburg,  where  the  Irish  brigade  stemmed  the  tide  of 
battle,  and  with  a  united  Irish  cheer,  charged  upon  the  foe,  leaving 
sixteen  hundred  dead  and  wounded  in  the  hands  of  the  victorious 
Confederates.  In  the  honored  graves  in  which  many  of  them  sleep 
to-day,  they  are  far  above  the  flippant  sneers  and  criticisms  of  the 
cold-blooded,  narrow-minded  Beecher.  S 

Emerson  speaks  of  foreigners  as  courteously  as  the  Arch  bigot  of 
Brooklyn  : — "  The  Irish  and  Germans  come  over  here  in  skoals  to 
dig  our  canals  and  manure  our  fields  with  their  bones,  and  leave  no 
further  trace  of  themselves." 

Poor  Emerson  and  Beecher  !  Do  they  know  that  Irish  intellect, 
boldness,  and  industry  have  contributed  many  brilliant  chapters  to 
the  history  of  the  two  greatest  nations  of  the  earth  ?  Three  of  the 
signers  of  the  great  Declaration  of  Independence  were  Irishmen. 
Among  the  first  to  sympathize  with  the  oppressed  inhabitants  of 
New  England  and  to  express  indignation  at  British  outrages  were 
the  militia  officers  of  this  grand  State  of  North  Carolina,  all  of 
whom  were  Irishmen.  Their  declaration  of  independence  in  1776, 
one  year  before  Jefferson  wrote  the  immortal  charter,  is  full  of 
eloquent  indignation  at  the  tyranny  of  England.    Jefferson's  great 


13 

document  contains  many  of  the  ideas  and  phrases  of  the  Irish  delegates 
of  the  Mecklenburg  Convention. — Here  is  one  of  their  resolutions : 

"  That  we  do  hereby  declare  ourselves  a  free  and  independent  people ;  are,  and  of 
right  ought  to  be,  a  sovereign,  self-governing  association,  under  the  control  of  no 
power  than  that  of  our  God  and  the  general  government  of  the  Congress ;  to  the 
maintenance  of  which  independence  we  solemnly  pledge  to  each  other  our  mutual 
co-operation,  our  lives,  our  fortunes,  and  our  most  sacred  honor." 

Charles  Carroll,  of  Carrolton,  who  devoted  his  princely  fortune, 

and  Robert  Morris,  of  Philadelphia,  who  poured  out  his  wealth  like 

water,  to  replenish  the  scanty  coffers  of  the  impoverished  colonies, 

were  Irishmen.     One-third  of  the  revolutionary  soldiers  who  defended 

New  York,  New  Jersey  and  Massachusetts  from  the  British  hosts, 

were  Irishmen.     Chivalrous  Montgomery,  who  fell  on  the  heights 

of  Quebec,  with  the  stars  and  stripes  flying  above  his  head,  was  an 

Irishmen.     Thomas  Addis  Emmet,  the  polished  diamond  of  the  New 

York  bar  and  Attorney- General  of  the   State,  was  an  Irishman. 

The  Pennsylvania  legion,  whose  blood  was  shed  in  noble  defence  of 

liberty,   were   Irishmen.     Blannerhassett,   the   man   of   letters,   of 

music,  of  philosophy,  was   an   Irishman.      Wellington,  the   great 

military  captain,  was  an  Irishman.     The  sweetest  poet  of  the  English 

tongue  was  Moore,  an  Irishman.     Many  of  the  renowned  poets, 

orators  and  dramatists  were  Irishmen.     The  brilliant  and  powerful 

dramatic  orator,  Henry   Grattan,  whose  eloquence  was   the  very 

music  of  freedom,  was  an  Irishman.     Curran,  the  eloquent  advocate 

and  fearless  champion  of  mankind,  was  an  Irishman.     The  humorous, 

witty  and  patriotic  Dean  Swift,  the  most  powerful  writer  of  our 

language,  was  an  Irishman.     Edmund  Burke,  the  loftiest  name  in 

British  annals  and  a  tower  of  strength  to  the  struggling  colonies, 

was  an  Irishman.     Richard  Lalor  Sheil,  the  poet  and  orator,  whose 

eloquence  could  even   charm  the  serpents  of  despotism,  was   an 

Irishman.     Knox,  Thompson,  Barry,  Paul  Jones,  McDonough  and 

Jackson,  patriots  of  the  past,  were  of  Irish  birth  and  blood.    Sheridan, 

who,  according  to  Byron,  wrote  the  best  comedy  and  pronounced 

the  best  oration  in  the  English  language,  was  an  Irishman.     Sterne, 

Steele,  Usher,  Lardner   and   Goldsmith,  the   exile  from  Auburn, 

a  loveliest  village  of  the  plain,"  novelists  and  philosophers,  were  all 

Irishmen.     Canning,  the  accomplished  diplomatist,  who  often  saved 

England  from  ruin,  was  an  Irishman.     Hogan  and  Machlese,  great 

painters,  were  Irishmen.     Generals  Napier  and  Gough,  splendid 

soldiers,  are  Irishmen.     Daniel  O'Connell,  mighty  in  eloquence,  and 


14 

whose  commanding  majesty  of  soul  embraced  within  the  circle  of 
his  sympathies  all  religions  and  races,  was  an  Irishman.  Meagher, 
the  splendid  orator  and  patriot,  whose  eloquence  even  rivalled  that 
of  Sheil,  was  an  Irishman.  Shields,  the  shot-proof  soldier,  the  only 
General  who  ever  gained  a  victory  over  Stonewall  Jackson,  is  an 
Irishman.  Charles  O'Connor  and  James  T.  Brady,  the  foremost 
lawyers  of  the  American  bar,  are  Irishmen's  sons.  Sheridan,  the 
great  military  genius  of  the  country,  a  bulwark  in  war  and  a  marvel 
of  a  soldier,  is  an  Irishman.  Mulligan,  the  gifted  soldier,  martyr 
and  orator.  Conners,  the  great  senator  from  California,  and  John 
A.  Logan,  the  heroic  commander  of  the  Army  of  the  Tennessee, 
honored  names  and  decidedly  Irish. 

The  illustrious  Catholic  Prelates,  Bishops  England,  Kenrick, 
Hughes,  were  Irishmen  and  of  Celtic  lineage.  Bishop  Simpson, 
the  renowned  orator,  the  thunder  and  lightning  of  whose  eloquence 
compelled  even  the  London  Times,  to  wonder  and  applaud,  is  of 
Irish  origin.  Charles  Elliott,  famous  for  Theological  learning,  every 
drop  of  blood  that  warms  his  generous  heart  is  Irish.  Henry  Giles, 
the  delicious  essayist  and  charming  lecturer,  is  a  genuine  Irishman. 
Shelton  Mackensie,  distinguished  for  classical  attainments  and 
splendor  of  diction  is  a  pure  Celt.  M.  Cullough  (Mack),  the 
accomplished  phenographer  and  genial  correspondent,  is  a  young 
Irishman.  Miles  O'Reilly,  poet,  scholar,  editor  and  soldier  patriot, 
is  an  Irishman.  Powers  and  Crawford,  the  sculptors  were  of  Irish 
extraction.  The  first  General  officer  killed  in  the  revolutionary 
wTar,  the  first  officer  of  Artillery  appointed,  the  first  Commodore 
commissioned,  the  first  victor  to  whom  the  British  flag  was  struck  at 
sea,  and  the  first  officer  who  surprised  a  fort  by  land,  were  Irishmen, 
and  with  such  enthusiasm  did  the  emigrants  from  the  '  Green  Isle ' 
espouse  the  cause  of  liberty  that  Lord  Mountjoy  declared  in  Parlia- 
ment "  You  lost  America  by  the  Irish." 

The  Irish  race  has  given  Generals  and  Marshals  to  France, 
Spain,  Austria,  and  Russia.  These  are  a  few  of  the  great  and 
brilliant  names  which  illuminate  the  sombre  annals  of  poor  Ireland. 
Proud,  glorious  old  land,  with  such  a  brilliant  past,  and  with  sons 
who  are  now  in  administrative,  military,  and  diplomatic  circles, 
adding  splendor  to  Ireland's  fame ;  who  would  not  rather  be  one  of 
thy  children  than  be  Beecher  and  Emerson,  loathed  by  mankind? 

Here  the  lecturer  gave  a  rapid  and  comprehensive  narrative  of 


15 

Irish  politics,  referring  in  glowing  and  eloquent  terms  to  the  Young 
Ireland  movement  of  '48.  He  said  that  "  the  original  founders  of 
this  splendid  revolutionary  organization  were  young  men  of  fine 
talents  and  stainless  morals.  They  aimed  at  securing  the  independ- 
ence of  Ireland  by  the  use  of  physical  force.  O'Connell,  the  leader 
of  the  old  organization,  in  a  speech  of  great  eloquence,  denounced 
the  young  Republicans,  remarking  in  his  huge,  lion-like  style,  that 
he  would  put  his  paw  on  them,  and  then  introduced  his  famous 
resolution,  that  no  liberty  was  worth  the  shedding  of  a  drop  of 
blood.  Meagher,  the  brightest  orator  in  the  Confederation,  replied 
to  O'Connell  in  a  magnificent  and  sublime  speech,  in  which  occurs 
his  celebrated  apostrophe  to  the  sword.  The  young  Ireland  party 
was  then  formed,  and  around  it  gathered  the  intelligence  and  young 
hopes  of  the  nation.  Brennan  says  that  a  national  literature  soon 
sprang  up.  It  was  based  on  a  warm  love  of  liberty,  while  its 
graceful  shaft  was  wreathed  around  with  flowers  of  female  enthusi- 
asm. The  names  of  Duffy,  Williams,  Davis,  Mitchel,  Meagher, 
Lalor,  Managan,  a  noble  brotherhood  of  poets  and  orators,  soon 
spread  with  electric  enthusiasm  from  Waterford  to  Derry.  A  new 
spirit  inspired  the  people.  Clubs  wrere  formed  throughout  the 
island,  and  the  young  men  of  culture  were  enrolled  by  thousands 
under  the  banners  of  the  Confederates.  The  intrepid  Meagher 
travelled  extensively,  addressing  immense  crowds  who  were  eager  to 
gather  around  the  Republican  standard.  Those  speeches  of  Meagher's 
were  sublime  bursts  of  eloquence,  which  have  seldom,  if  ever,  been 
equalled  even  by  himself.  Mitchell  was  everywhere  hailed  as  a 
Tribune,  and  his  strong,  stern,  magnificent  denunciations  of  British 
misrule  met  with  a  hearty  response  in  the  breasts  of  thousands  who 
were  longing  for  the  utter  destruction  of  a  government  that  upheld 
its  domination  in  Ireland  by  a  hundred  thousand  bayonets.  "  My 
father,  sir,"  said  he,  in  his  clear,  ringing  tones,  "was  a  United 
Irishman,  and  carried  arms  in  defence  of  his  country's  freedom.  Do 
you  dare  to  tell  me  that  I  must  abhor  and  stigmatize  the  memory  of 
my  own  father."  The  revolution  soon  commenced.  What  genius 
was  wasted  on  that  struggle — what  noble,  loving  hearts  were 
broken!  The  gifted  leaders  were  caught,  and  transported  to  the 
white  rocks  of  Bermuda.  Some  of  them  died  in  poverty  and 
anguish.  In  a  dark,  cold,  cheerless  hospital  died  Managan  of  the 
tuneful  harp,  Lalor,  the  fiercest  rebel  of  them  all,  and  most  dangerous 


16 

Democrat  in  Britain,  sank  gradually  into  a  lonely  grave.  In  dark 
dungeons  on  the  Southern  seas,  far  from  the  old  land  they  loved  so 
well,  scores  of  them  fretted  and  pined  against  their  chains.  O'Brien, 
distinguished  for  his  varied  and  profound  learning,  as  well  as  for  the 
goodness  of  his  heart  and  simplicity  of  manners,  died  of  a  broken 
heart  in  Wales.  Maurice  Leyne,  an  orator  of  splendid  gifts,  his 
war-cry  always  floated  clear  and  strong  against  England,  and  his 
dashing  temper  and  fine  abilities  were  always  in  requisition  when 
Ireland  was  assailed.  He  sleeps  in  magnificent  Tipperary. 
Meagher,  the  eloquent  confessor  of  a  manly  faith,  the  Chrysostom 
of  his  suffering  country,  distinguished  for  wonderful  depth  and 
variety  of  language,  his  bright  soul  was  quenched  in  the  fatal  waters 
of  the  Missouri.  The  last  time,  but  one,  that  I  met  him,  was  at 
Nashville,  Tennessee.  He  was  full  of  anecdotes  of  the  war,  and 
especially  of  his  Irish  Brigade.  One  story  that  he  told  is  too  good 
to  be  lost.  He  said  he  was  leading  his  men  to  the  front  in  one  of 
the  seven  days'  battles,  when  an  aid  rode  by  and  gave  him  the  news 
that  our  army  had  carried  a  certain  strategic  point,  and  captured 
several  colors.  "  D'ye  hear  that,  boys?"  shouted  Meagher.  "Our 
men  have  won  the  day  and  captured  the  enemy's  colors.  Just  as  I 
said  that,"  remarked  Meagher,  "  a  private,  who  was  plunging  along, 
out  of  one  muddy  hole  into  another,  look  up  to  me  and  said,  *  Ah? 
Gineral !  I'd  rather  hev  a  pint  of  O'Dinnis  McGinnis'  whiskey  than 
all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow.'" 

It  was  while  here  that  he  came  out  for  the  Republican  party, 
delivering  an  address  of  wonderful  eloquence  and  power.  The 
President  of  the  United  States,  and  other  distinguished  men  who 
listened  to  it,  can  never  forget  its  magical  influence  over  the  vast 
audience. 

I  well  remember  Meagher's  visit  to  my  native  city,  Belfast.  I 
sat  by  his  side.  All  eyes  were  centered  on  this  eloquent  young 
rebel.  "  There  is  mind  and  eloquence  in  him,"  muttered  a  scholarly 
philosopher,  as  Meagher  just  finished  one  of  his  brilliant  illustrations 
in  a  beautiful  and  stately  climax.  The  orator's  voice  became  more 
melodious,  rich  and  impassioned.  Every  eye  is  fixed,  and  as  he 
depicts  the  wrongs  of  Ireland,  every  hand  is  clenched.  In  the  short 
space  of  half  an  hour,  distance  was  annihilated,  time  forgotten  and 
the  audience  found  itself  surrounded  by  their  oppressors,  amidst 
whips,  fetters,  packed  juries,  murder,  famine  and  death !    The  soul 


17 

of  the  orator  which  kindled  as  he  advanced,  burned  within  him  and 
the  flame  communicated  itself  to  the  whole  of  the  vast  assembly. 
To  such  as  were  capable  of  calm  observation,  the  scene  was  grand 
and  sublime.  As  he  approached  the  close  of  his  magnificent  speech, 
he  gave  a  lightning  glance  at  the  atrocities  of  England,  invoked  the 
people  to  rise  and  rid  themselves  forever  of  the  accursed  Union. 

"I  arrest  you,"  exclaimed  an  officer  of  the  law.  "No,  by 
heaven,"  responded  the  gallant  Meagher,  and  in  these  immortal 
words  confounded  the  soldiery:  "I  can  and  will  retract  nothing, 
because  it  is  neither  safe  nor  wise  to  do  anything  contrary  to  con- 
science !     Here  I  stand.     I  cannot  do  otherwise !     God  help  me." 

The  next  day  five  thousand  men  joined  the  young  Ireland  party 
and  prepared  to  raise  the  standard  of  revolt.  England  trembled — 
matters  were  coming  to  a  climax.  Meagher  was  arrested;  the 
mockery  for  trial  was  given  him,  and  he  was  sentenced  to  be  hung. 
His  bearing  during  the  trial  was  grand,  elevated  and  heroic.  His 
speech  on  the  occasion  has  never  been  surpassed  either  in  elegance 
of  composition  or  in  haughty  defiance  of  the  power  that  sentenced 
him  to  a  felon's  death.  Subsequently  this  sentence  was  commuted 
to  banishment  for  life  in  Van  Diemen's  land. 

I  saw  him  again  at  "Washington  at  the  princely  residence  of  Mr. 
Coyle.  He  was  accompanied  by  his  charming  wife,  a  lady  whose 
beauty  and  accomplishments  have  made  her  a  conspicuous  ornament 
in  every  circle  of  polite  society.  The  General  was  a  passionate 
lover  of  the  Republic.  When  an  exile  in  Australia  he  always  kept 
its  flag  flying  from  the  Speranza  on  Lake  Sorrell,  where  he  and  his 
companions  spent  pleasant  hours.  Meagher  was  brilliant  in  conver- 
sation. He  talked  of  poor  Ireland,  her  sorrows,  struggles,  and 
hopes,  He  inquired  particularly  and  earnestly  of  Mitchell,  whom  I 
had  recently  met  in  Richmond.  He  spoke  kindly,  tenderly,  and 
with  evident  emotion  of  his  old  friend  and  fellow  sufferer,  referring 
in  touching  terms  to  their  early  friendship  and  labors  in  the  cause  of 
their  country.  The  observation  was  made,  that  perhaps  we  might 
never  meet  again,  and  with  a  superb  smile  he  answered,  "If  not 
here,  we  shall  meet  yonder  beyond  the  cedars  and  the  stars." 

Mozart  died  finishing  the  requiem  that  was  first  destined  to  be 

chanted  over  its  creator,  and  then  to  enchant  creation.     De  Liles 

wrote  the  chant  that  conducted  him  to  the  scaffold  and  which,  then 

and  since  is  the  war  cry  of  his  nation  "  The  Marsellaise"    Tasso 

2 


18 

lived  long,  yet  died  only  when  appreciated,  the  blithe  notes  of  fame 
singing  him  out  of  the  world  with  the  laurels  on  his  brow  for  a 
death  chaplet.  And  Thomas  Francis  Meagher  has  fallen  in  the 
very  bloom  and  promise  of  a  brilliant  manhood.  By  the  millions  of 
his  countrymen  in  all  lands  his  death  will  be  profoundly  lamented. 
His  sincere  and  indefatigable  efforts  for  the  independence  of  dear 
old  Erin  endeared  him  to  his  countrymen.  Americans  will  not 
forget  him,  for  around  his  name  are  linked  imperishable  memories 
gathered  at  Bull  Run,  through  the  Peninsula's  gloomy  campaigns 
and  Antietam's  bloody  plains  ;  in  the  desperate  charge  at  Fredericks- 
burg. His  grand  and  impassioned  orations  for  an  undivided 
nationality  will  cause  the  natives  of  the  United  States  to  weep  for 
the  loss  of  an  adopted  son,  in  whom 

"  The  love  of  liberty  with  life  was  given, 
And  life  itself  the  inferior  gift  of  Heaven." 

His  old  comrades  in  arms,  and  scores  of  others,  will  deeply  regret 
the  death  of  an  old  fellow-soldier  who  had  so  often  given  many 
signal  proofs  of  devotion  to  the  land  of  his  adoption. 

Thomas  Francis  Meagher,  in  appearance,  was  a  fine  specimen  of 
a  genuine  Celt.  He  was  of  medium  height,  a  captivating  personnel, 
a  florid  face,  brilliant  eyes,  glowing  with  the  fires  of  patriotism.  His 
countenance  was  thoroughly  Milesian,  large,  open,  genial,  plump 
and  ruddy.  His  voice  was  the  very  music  of  freedom.  Meet  him 
in  sociable  moments,  he  was  overflowing  with  wit  and  humor  of  the 
rarest  kind,  caustic  and  cutting  against  intriguers,  speculators  and 
political  charlatans,  but  genial  and  flowing  towards  his  friends,  full 
of  buoyant  vivacity,  wit  and  historical  lore,  he  was  a  genial,  instruc- 
tive and  delightful  companion.  He  was  as  pleasant  a  friend  as 
Lever  ever  painted  in  any  of  his  novels — his  strongest  weakness 
was  a  devoted  love  of  the  social  pleasures.  This  was  the  head  and 
front  of  his  offending.  In  the  light  of  those  heroic  sacrifices  which 
made  the  early  days  of  his  career  illustrious,  his  friends  may  well 
forget  the  errors  from  which  no  mortal  is  free,  and  rank  his  name 
high  in  the  list  of  those  who  have  deserved  well  of  their  country 
and  made  their  mark  upon  their  day  and  generation. 

Our  lips  tremble  as  we  speak  of  that  sad  July  night,  when  in  the 
turbulent  waters  of  the  Missouri,  our  gifted  friend  and  brightest 


19 

model  of  a  patriot,  was  drowned  and  lost  to  Ireland  forever.  The 
fatal  tidings  of  bis  tragic  death,  caused  sorrow  and  poignant  grief  to 
the  households  of  tens  of  thousands  of  Irish  scattered  over  the  wide 
surface  of  the  earth.  That  one  so  gifted,  so  generous  and  impetuous, 
so  fervid  and  daring,  so  unflinchingly  true  to  the  great  principles  of 
Liberty,  and  one  whose  brilliant  qualities  of  head  and  heart,  amply 
proved  that  he  was  the  truest  type  of  chivalry  and  patriotism,  should 
be  suddenly  swept  out  of  existence. 

The  sons  and  daughters  of  the  old  land,  which  he  loved  so  well, 
will  bend  with  infinite  tenderness  over  the  sad  and  awful  fate  of 
Thomas  Francis  Meagher,  the  daring  leader,  the  brilliant  orator,  the 
genial  friend  and  chivalrous  gentleman.  Sacred  memories  of  my 
lamented  friend  come  over  me  at  this  moment.  I  hear  once  more 
his  bright,  musical  and  inspired  oration,  in  which  is  contained  his 
splendid  apostrophe  to  the  sword.  It  is  no  wonder  that  even  Henry 
Grattan  exclaimed  that  Meagher's  speeches  displayed  the  talent  of 
Junius,  the  spirit  of  Burke,  and  the  courage  of  Blood  and  Plunkett. 
Then  his  calm,  brave  address  in  the  Dock  when  sentenced  to  be 
hung  and  quartered.  This  was  one  of  the  noblest  and  grandest  of 
speeches.  It  was  distinguished  by  purity  and  elegance  of  composi- 
tion, as  well  as  by  a  haughty  and  gallant  defiance  of  the  English 
butchers,  who  were  thirsting  for  his  blood.  This  magnificent  burst 
of  eloquent  indignation  is  sufficient  to  make  his  memory  eternal.  I 
have  thought  that  amid  the  convulsions  of  expiring  worlds  Gabriel 
covering  this  and  Emmett's  memorable  vindication  from  the  confla- 
gration, will  transfer  them  to  the  Throne  of  the  Eternal.  We  are 
all  familiar  with  Meagher's  great  and  devoted  gallantry  during  the 
war  for  the  Union.  The  dead  Gael  was  always  present  when  the 
embattled  hosts  were  charging  the  hottest,  performing  prodigies  of 
valor. 

His  farewell  words  to  the  Irish  Brigade  ;  his  inspiring  and  noble 
counsels  ;  the  tokens  of  love,  gratitude,  and  kindness,  which  his  fiery 
and  splendid  soldiers  poured  upon  him  as  he  left  them  ;  his  triumphal 
journey  through  the  North,  arousing  the  dormant  patriotism  of  our 
people ;  his  grand  orations  in  defence  of  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  the 
grandest  flag  that  ever  swept  the  breeze ;  these  and  a  thousand  other 
bright  and  conspicuous  chapters  of  Meagher's  eventful  life  must  be 
left  to  the  historian  and  biographer.  I  have  before  me  now,  several 
charming  letters  which  he  wrote  me  from  Montana.     In  every  line 


20 

there  breathes  patriotic  devotion  to  America,  his  adopted  country, 
and  to  Ireland,  his  native  land.  It  is  sad  and  mournful  to  reflect 
that  after  escaping  the  vicissitudes  of  dreary  exile,  and  the  fearful 
perils  of  a  hundred  battles,  our  dear  friend  should  at  last  so  suddenly 
perish  beneath  the  resistless  waves  of  the  pitiless  Missouri.  Meagher 
still  lives.  His  beautiful  fancy,  persuasive  eloquence,  and  splendid 
gifts,  (devoted  to  humanity  in  its  broadest,  noblest  sense)  will  always 
plead  for  that  distant  isle,  in  whose  behalf  Grattan  plead  and  Emmett 
died.  In  the  great  day  of  Ireland's  redemption,  when  her  brave 
sons  unite  to  break  her  chains,  then  Meagher's  spirit,  like  a  blazing 
pillar  of  fire,  will  lead  them  to  victory  and  triumph. 

With  what  crushing  agony  must  the  sad  news  of  his  death,  have 
fallen  on  his  noble  wife,  who  though  possessing  all  the  refinements 
and  elegance  of  a  highly  cultivated  lady,  left  the  splendor  of  a  luxu- 
rious and  opulent  home,  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  the  Irish  Brigade, 
partaking  of  the  commonest  fare,  so  that  as  a  good  angel,  she  might 
be  ever  near  her  devoted  husband.  The  refined  grace  of  her  manner, 
the  loveliness  of  her  person,  the  sweetness  and  gentleness  of  her 
disposition, — these  unrivalled  charms  before  which  gallant  men 
bowed  in  homage,  made  her  the  model  of  elegance  and  refinement. 
A  lady  so  accomplished,  and  so  handsome,  was  worthy  to  be  the 
peerless  wife  of  the  illustrious  and  beloved  Thomas  Francis  Meagher. 
In  every  nation  where  Irishmen  revere  the  memory  of  the  dead 
patriot,  his  noble  widow  will  have  their  prayers  and  sympathies. 

Honored  Meagher !  true  patriot !  gallant  soldier  !  genial  friend  ! 
All  hail  and  farewell !  Take  your  crown  and  harp.  Dwell  forever 
in  beautiful  repose.  In  the  grandeur  of  Eternal  peace  be  the 
companion  of  Emmett,  of  Fitzgerald,  of  Lincoln,  and  of  all  those 
patriot  heroes  who,  during  the  recent  struggle,  fell,  making  life 
illustrious  and  death  divine  ! 

Adieu  !  gallant  Meagher  !  thou  art  buried  in  light !  God  speed 
thee  to  Heaven,  lost  star  of  our  night !  Brother  of  my  heart !  friend 
of  my  soul !  farewell ! ! 

Thomas  Davis,  another  of  that  splendid  host,  brave-hearted,  highly 
gifted  Davis,  lies  in  the  cold  clay  in  Glassneven.  He  fell  in  the 
ranks,  and  was  lost  to  Ireland  forever.  " My  work  is  hilling  me" 
were  almost  his  last  words.  "  I  read  with  dimmed  eyes,"  wrote 
O'Connel,  "the  noblest  youth  of  his  time  was  no  more."  Davis 
possessed  a  soft,  sweet  voice.     His  poems  are  instinct  with  heroic 


21 

life.    The  following  stanzas  of  one  of  his  poems  exhibit  tenderness 

and  pathetic  passion : — 

"  Come  in  the  evening,  or  come  in  the  morning, 
Come  when  you  are  looked  for,  or  come  without  warning, 
Kisses  and  welcome  you  will  find  here  before  you, 
And  the  oftener  you  come  the  more  I'll  adore  you, 
Light  is  my  heart  since  the  day  we  were  plighted, 
Red  is  my  cheek  that  they  told  me  was  blighted ; 
The  green  of  the  trees  looks  far  greener  than  ever, 
And  the  linnets  are  singing,  true  lovers  don't  sever." 

His  political  songs  were  like  the  blasts  of  a  trumpet,  arousing  the 
careless,  and  summoning  the  victims  of  tyranny  to  tireless  action  for 
life  and  land.     For  instance,  what  more  thrilling  than  this  ? 

-  What  rights  the  brave  ? 

The  sword. 
What  frees  the  slave  ? 

The  sword. 
What  strikes  the  crown  of  tyrants  down, 
And  answers  with  its  flash  their  frown  ? 

The  sword. 

John  Mitchell  was  a  deft  controversalist,  always  ready  for  a 
polemic  combat,  an  uncompromising  and  unconquered  rebel  against 
the  English  government.  His  manner  is  that  of  the  essayist  who 
reads  and  comments,  rather  than  that  of  the  orator  who  captivates. 
While  admiring  his  splendid  genius  and  unselfish  devotion  to  Ireland, 
every  lover  of  liberty  was  shocked  by  his  apostacy  to  the  slave 
power  and  defence  of  the  horrid  rebellion. 

Then  there  was  John  Martin,  a  cultivated  gentleman,  distinguish- 
ed for  the  finished  dignity  of  his  manner,  and  a  Republican  in  prin- 
ciple and  practice.  He  has  recently  been  seized  by  the  officers  of 
England  for  a  few  earnest  words  spoken  in  condemnation  of  the 
Manchester  massacre. 

Managan  possessed  a  mind  of  great  originality,  a  strong  and  fervid 
imagination.  Joseph  Brennan,  who  sleeps  beside  him,  was  a  clever, 
genial  and  charming  poet.  The  following  lines  possess  much  sweet- 
ness and  grace : — 

"  Come  to  me,  dearest — I'm  lonely  without  thee, 
Day-time  and  night-time,  I'm  thinking  about  thee ; 
Night-time  and  day-time,  in  dreams  I  behold  thee, 
Unwelcome  my  waking  which  ceases  to  fold  thee. 
Come  to  me  darling,  my  sorrows  to  lighten, 
Come  in  thy  beauty  to  bless  and  to  brighten, 
Come  in  thy  womanhood,  meekly  and  lowly; 
Come  in  thy  lovingness,  queenly  and  holy. 


22 

Come  to  me  dear,  ere  I  die  of  my  sorrow, 

Rise  on  my  gloom  like  the  sun  of  to-morrow, 

Strong,  swift  and  fond  as  the  words  which  I  speak,  love, 

With  a  song  at  your  lip,  and  a  smile  on  your  cheek,  love. 

Come,  for  my  heart  in  your  absence  is  weary — 

Haste,  for  my  heart  is  sickened  and  dreary ; 

Come  to  the  arms  which  alone  should  caress  thee, 

Come  to  the  heart  which  is  throbbing  to  press  thee." 

This  beautiful  poem  was  written  by  poor  Brennan  to  his  wife  in 
Ireland,  when  he  was  an  exile  in  New  Orleans. 

Richard  Dalton  Williams  was  a  fine  scholar  and  a  charming  poet. 
He  was  so  gentle,  and  so  transparent,  that  one  could  not  help  loving 
him.  He  was  a  medical  student  in  Dublin,  and  his  beautiful  song 
of  the  "Dying  Girl,"  was  composed  while  discharging  his  duties  at 
the  Hospitals.  He  came  to  America,  and  was  engaged  for  a  time  in 
a  College  as  Professor,  and  died  in  New  Orleans,  greatly  beloved. 
His  poems  are  rich,  sweet,  clear,  and  melodious,  replete  with  beauti- 
ful imagery.  His  truly  touching  and  beautiful  lines  on  the  "  Dying 
Girl,"  are  much  admired,  and  have  attained  a  wide  popularity  in 
Ireland  and  America. 

From  a  Munster  vale  they  brought  her, 

From  the  pure  and  balmy  air, 
An  Ormond's  peasant  daughter, 

"With  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair. 
They  brought  her  to  the  city 

And  she  faded  slowly  there, 
Consumption  hath  no  pity 

For  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair. 

When  I  saw  her  first  reclining, 

Her  lips  were  moved  in  prayer, 
And  the  setting  sun  was  shining 

On  her  loosened  golden  hair. 
When  our  kindly  glances  met  her, 

Deadly  brilliant  was  her  eye, 
And  she  said  that  she  was  better, 

While  we  knew  that  she  must  die. 

At  length  the  harp  is  broken, 

And  the  spirit  in  its  strings, 
As  the  last  decree  is  spoken, 

To  its  source  exulting  springs. 
Descending  swiftly  from  the  skies 

Her  guardian  angel  came, 
He  struck  God's  lightning  from  her  eyes, 

And  bore  him  back  the  flame. 


23 

To  the  distinguished  list  of  these  who  first  and  longest  upheld  the 
rebel  flag  against  England  in  '48,  must  be  added  the  name  of  the 
noble  conspirator,  Thomas  Devin  Reilly,  a  polished  gentleman  and 
a  brilliant  scholar.     I  am  at  a  loss  which  most  to  admire,  the  intrepid 
leader  who  marshalled  the  conflict  with  injustice  and  tyranny,  or  the 
devoted  patriot  who  sacrificed  property,  and  the  joys  of  a  happy 
home,  that  Ireland  might  be  delivered  from  the  cowardly  and  treach- 
erous English  Parliament.     The   last  hours  of  this  gifted  patriot, 
gallant  traitor,  and  enthusiastic  friend  of  liberty,  demonstrated  that 
the  noble  passion  of  his  life  was  strong  in  death.     John  Mitchell, 
his  devoted  friend,  tells  how  that  with  his  dear  wife  at  his  side,  and 
his  little  daughter  playing  at  his  knee,  he  calmly  and  grandly  died, 
like   a   true   Irish   patriot.      Thank    God   our   martyrs   die   well. 
Reilly's  thirtieth  birthday  arrived,  and  he  knew  his  fate  was  come. 
He  was  in  good  health,  but  told  his  wife  he  must  die.     He  often 
started  up,  threw  open  the  window,  and  said  the  room  smelled  of 
Death.     To  his  powerful  imagination  every  thing  was  an  omen  of 
doom,  and  at  night  he  heard  the  Banshee  of  his  clan  wailing  along 
the  shores  of  the  Potomac.     The  last  night  of  his  earthly  existence, 
he  called   his  household  around  him,  filled  a  bumper,  and    there 
standing   on  his  floor,  looking  calmly  into  his  early  grave,  with  a> 
bold  and  sunny  smile  upon  his  lip,  and  tears  streaming  down  his 
rough   face,   he  pledged  his  last  toast, —  Old  Ireland.     After   that 
touching  good  night  to  "Ireland,"  he  retired  in  his  usual  health  ;  in 
the  morning  he  was  a  corpse.     Talk  of  heroic  deaths.     I  challenge 
the  world  to  exhibit  a  single  instance  worthy  of  being  placed  by  the 
side  of  such  a  grand,  beautiful  example. 

There  were  others,  equally  distinguished,  who  sacrificed  all  for 
the  old  land.  John  Savage,  the  scholar,  essayist,  and  poet.  Charles 
Gavan  Duffy,  one  of  nature's  most  gifted  orators.  Michael  Doheny, 
tho  fearless  champion  of  Democracy,  and  such  familiar  names  as 
McManus,  Dillon,  O'Gormon,  O'Doherty,  Smythe,  Davis  the  Belfast 
man,  and  the  charming  female  poets,  Speransa  and  Eva. 

The  young  Ireland  movement  produced  its  legitimate  effect— -the 
revolutionary  Literature  generated  by  these  brilliant  scholars  and 
orators,  was  not  banished  with  its  authors ;  their  songs,  essays, 
speeches,  fell  on  the  fiery  Irish  heart  like  sparks  of  electric  fire. 
The  Republican  spirit  was  not  quenched,  but  only  waited  for  an 
opportunity  to  flame  forth  with  greater  intensity  and  power.     Years 


24 

rolled  on,  and  thousands  of  our  race  starved  to  death  by  British 
agencies.  New  taxes,  new  coercion  bills,  new  insults,  new  robberies 
were  inflicted  upon  the  suffering  people.  At  last  a  decision  was 
formed.  The  intelligent  and  energetic  classes  resolved  and  prepared 
to  make  their  proud  demand  for  life  and  independence.  The  Fenian 
Brotherhood  was  organized.  In  a  few  years  it  created  and  fostered 
a  literature  of  its  own,  it  enrolled  tens  of  thousands  in  its  ranks,  and 
increased  more  and  more  until  the  attention  of  the  civilized  world 
was  called  to  the  wrongs  of  Ireland. 

Its  chief  object  is  the  resurrection  of  Irish  nationality.  It  advo- 
cates civil  liberty,  religious  toleration  and  education,  believing  that  a 
people  to  be  free  must  be  educated.  Its  grand  principles  are  those 
of  Swift  and  Jefferson :  "  That  all  governments,  without  the  consent 
of  the  governed,  is  the  very  definition  of  slavery."  Its  immediate 
mission  in  Ireland  is  the  establishment  of  a  republic  based  on  that 
sublime  truth,  grand  as  the  heavens  stretched  over  our  heads,  "That 
all  men  are  created  equal."  During  the  eight  years  of  its  existence 
it  has  excited  the  sympathies  of  mankind  everywhere  for  Ireland ; 
it  has  spread  its  ramifications  all  over  the  British  isles ;  has  called 
forth  the  admiring  applause  of  the  American  Congress  ;  has  shaken 
the  wooden  walls  of  old  England,  and  has  created  a  sentiment  in 
Great  Britain  and  throughout  the  world,  which  demands  that  justice 
be  done  to  Ireland.  The  English  nobleman  talked  with  thoughtless 
impudence  when  he  asserted  that  Fenianism  was  put  down.  In  the 
language  of  Sam  Weller,  in  Pickwick,  "  It  can't  be  done."  The 
like  never  was  attempted,  only  when  Xerxes  flung  chains  at  the 
Hellespont : — 

"  And  over  that  foolish  deed  has  pealed 
The  loud,  long  laugh  of  a  world." 

The  Irish  cause  is  hopeful ;  this  is  the  brightest  hour  that  unhappy 
Erin  has  ever  seen ! 

"  Thou  art  not  dead,  my  country ;  thou  art  not  conquered ; 
Beauty's  ensign  is  yet  crimson  on  thy  cheeks, 
And  death's  pale  flag  is  not  advanced  there." 

The  blow  may  be  struck  at  any  moment.  Some  of  our  country- 
men may  regard  the  whole  movement  as  an  extravagant  joke.  I 
would  say  to  all  such  heartless  Irishmen  what  a  boy  said  to  a 
General  in  New  York.     During  the  war  a  boy  met  a  Brigadier 


25 

strutting  about  the  streets  of  New  York,  when  his  soldiers  were 
fighting  in  the  front.  The  boy  cried  out  from  his  papers,  "Another 
great  battle."  The  General  bought  a  paper  and  put  up  his  eye  glass 
to  examine  it.  Not  finding  what  he  looked  for,  he  said  to  the  boy  : 
"  I  don't  see  any  battle  here."  "  No,  darn  ye,"  said  the  boy,  "  and 
you  never  will  while  you  hang  round  this  here  town." 

There  is  a  grand  battle  impending  in  the  old  land,  but  while  Irish- 
men's sympathies  are  so  contracted  and  their  hearts  so  full  of 
prejudice,  they  will  never  see  it. 

The  great  struggle  in  Ireland  will  soon  commence.  Courage  rises 
with  danger,  and  heroism  with  resolve.  Does  not  our  breath  come 
freer,  each  heart  beat  quicker,  when  we  read  of  those  rare  and  grand 
acts  of  heroism  when  all  doubt  and  wavering  are  flung  to  the  winds, 
and  the  soul  rises  majestic  over  each  petty  obstacle — each  low, 
selfish  consideration,  and  flinging  off  the  fetters  of  prejudice,  bigotry 
and  egotism,  bounds  forward  into  the  higher,  diviner  life  of  heroism 
and  patriotism — defiant  as  a  conquerer,  devoted  as  a  martyr,  omnip- 
otent as  a  deity. 

There  may  be  a  disposition  to  doubt  the  possibility  of  accomplish- 
ing the  freedom  of  Ireland.  It  may  be  considered  as  the  prompting 
of  a  sanguine  constitution,  and  the  day  dream  of  an  ardent  and 
vivacious  fancy.  That  there  are  immense  difficulties  to  overcome 
— that  to  the  progress  of  Liberty  there  is  opposition  such  as  no  other 
system  can  encounter,  is  instantly  and  candidly  acknowledged. 
There  are  religious  divisions  and  long  continued  and  deeply  rooted 
prejudices  to  be  crushed.  There  are  the  thousands  of  foolish 
Orangemen,  who  dance  attendance  upon  the  landlords,  who  for  their 
own  aggrandizement  countenance  the  disgusting  mummeries  of 
Orangemen.  There  are  the  hundreds  of  English  and  Scotch 
peasants  who  hold  offices  under  the  British  Crown.  There  is  the 
aristocracy,  and  an  army  of  spies,  detectives,  and  informers.  Then 
again  there  are  the  Clergy  of  all  the  Churches,  with  a  few  honored 
exceptions,  such  as  the  noble  Archbishop  of  Tuam.  In  spite  of  all 
these  obstacles,  I  have  a  steady  faith  in  the  success  of  our  cause, 
and  I  affirm,  without  hesitancy,  that  the  time  will  come,  when 
grandly  as  of  yore,  Ireland,  released  from  the  grasp  of  remorseless 
Britain,  will  make  her  own  laws,  and  be  governed  by  her  own 
children.  And  0,  happy,  will  the  year  be,  when  thus  the  grand 
object  of  patriotic  desire  shall  be  accomplished,  and  the  redemption 


26 

of  the  Green  Isle  shall  be  achieved.  Then  the  oppressions  and 
indignities  of  many  centuries  will  disappear,  not  as  by  a  prolonged 
process,  but  with  the  celerity  of  enchantment.  Then  the  groaning 
of  the  poor  for  bread,  will  be  hushed  ;  the  woes  and  miseries  of  the 
people  which  now  stalk  abroad  on  the  revelry  of  their  sad  dominion, 
will  depart ;  the  passions  of  party  which  have  long  rent  the  harmony 
of  the  nation,  will  be  charmed  ;  the  symbols  of  bigotry  will  be  taken 
down,  and  the  entire  Island  will  present  a  beautiful  habitation  of 
Love. 

This  is  an  enterprise  worthy  of  our  most  earnest  and  indefatigable 
efforts.  Strive  to  feel  it,  my  countrymen,  in  all  its  grandeur ;  let 
the  aspiration  breathe  in  every  scene ;  be  it  in  the  buoyancy  of 
health,  and  in  the  languor  of  sickness,  and  in  the  closing  agony  of 
death,  let  your  last  prayer  be  for  the  deliverance  of  the  old  land. 

Do  you  need  illustrious  examples  to  inspire  ?  Need  I  recall  the 
honored  and  beloved  name  of  Robert  Emmett,  who  animated  by  an 
unquenchable  zeal,  and  inspired  by  a  lofty  courage,  died  for  Ireland ; 
and  whose  fine  heroism  and  beautiful  chivalry,  constrained  applause 
even  from  those  who  regarded  him  as  an  Enthusiast.  There  is 
something  fine  and  elevating  in  the  superb  manner  in  which  this 
high  spirited  youth  upheld  an  oppressed  cause,  and  maintained  the 
majesty  of  an  insulted  country.  I  cannot  imagine  a  greater  privilege 
than  the  having  been  admitted  to  familiar  intercourse  with  one  so 
gifted  with  every  Christian  and  patriotic  virtue.  The  coldest  heart 
would  have  caught  something  of  his  fire  to  have  heard  him  deliver 
that  memorable  and  immortal  speech  in  the  dock ;  would  have  nerved 
even  the  most  cowardly,  to  have  marked  his  demeanor  at  the 
tribunal  of  the  infamous  Norbury ;  would  have  taught  the  oppressed, 
that  there  may  be  liberty  in  chains,  to  have  been  with  him  in  the 
prison  and  on  the  scaffold,  when  the  tyrant's  fetters  were  already 
upon  his  limbs,  and  the  tyrant's  sword  was  already  unsheathed. 
There  I  would  like  to  have  observed  him ;  there  I  would  have 
communed  with  him ;  there  I  would  have  sat  at  his  feet,  eager  to 
know  what  visions  were  floating  before  him,  and  to  catch  every 
word  that  flowed  from  his  lips.  Who  can  question  that  there  came 
to  him  in  the  solitude  of  his  prison,  glorious  visitations  from  the 
invisible  world,  and  that  while  the  fetters  were  upon  his  body,  the 
spirit  soared  as  on  eagle's  wings,  and  communed  with  Kegulus, 
Winkenried,  and  the  other  victims  of  despotic  goverments.     Emmett, 


27 

on  the  eve  of  his  martyrdom,  must  have  gazed  with  rapture  on  the 
resurrection  of  that  proud  and  glorious  land,  for  whose  sake  he  cheer- 
fully offered  up  his  life. 

Shall  I  continue  to  cite  the  familiar  names  of  such  daring  con- 
spirators as  Porter,  Barber,  McNeil,  and  Stevelly,  Presbyterian 
ministers  who  died  on  the  scaffold.  Sinclair,  Jackson,  Simpson? 
Wiley,  Episcopalian  parsons  who  were  united  Irishmen.  Russell, 
McCracken,  Neilson,  Monroe,  Rowan,  Harvey,  Bond,  Simms, 
Butler,  the  Tennants.  Protestant  gentlemen  who  were  among  the 
foremost  and  most  desperate  of  the  Irish  Rebels  of  1798.  Then 
the  brave  and  devoted  Catholic  priests,  such  as  Murphy,  Kearns, 
Roche  and  their  compatriots  the  mention  of  their  names,  sends  the 
blood  quicker  through  our  veins.  May  their  memories  be  eternal. 
Or,  coming  down  to  later  times,  need  I  refer  you  to  the  young  and 
glorious  Thomas  Davis,  who  when  the  laurels  of  applause  were 
yet  green  upon  his  brows,  and  the  road  to  honor  lay  open  before 
him,  abandoned  all,  that  he  might  aid  in  Ireland's  regeneration. 

Ireland  will  yet  triumph.  She  will  rise  again  like  a  young  queen, 
proud  and  happy.  Prosperity  will  run  like  fresh  blood  through  the 
veins  of  her  people.  The  green  banner  will  be  hailed  in  the  port 
of  Boston.     Emmett's  epitaph  will  be  written. 

"  Oh,  the  sight  entrancing, 
When  the  morning's  beam  is  glancing, 
On  files  arrayed  with  helm  and  blade, 
In  freedom's  cause  advancing." 

This  generous  Republic  that  has  furnished  so  magnificent  a 
shelter  for  thousands  of  our  countrymen,  is  with  Ireland  in  the 
coming  struggle.  There  have  always  been  between  the  two  nations 
the  friendliest  sympathies.  When  Franklin  was  ordered  out  of  the 
London  Parliament,  he  went  across  to  Dublin,  where  he  was 
received  with  distinguished  honors.  When  King  George  demanded 
forty  thousand  Irishmen  to  cut  the  throats  of  Americans,  the  Irish 
Parliament  refused  to  vote  a  solitary  soldier.  In  1861,  when 
England  threatened  a  war  in  case  Slidell  and  Mason  were  not 
surrendered,  ten  thousand  Irishmen  met  in  Dublin  and  resolved  to 
fight  beneath  the  stars  and  stripes.  Every  Irish  heart  throbbed  for 
us  in  the  recent  war.  Ireland  looks  to  America.  The  United 
States,  in  the  language  of  the  Galwayman,  is  "  the  next  parish  to 
Ireland." 


28 

The  American  Congress,  the  noblest  body  in  the  world,  has 
declared  its  sympathy  for  our  cause.  Chandler,  Wilson,  Nye, 
Sherman  in  the  Senate;  Banks,  Logan,  Judd,  Robinson  in  the 
House,  have  spoken  brave  words  for  the  dear  old  land.  The  bold 
and  impressive  utterances  of  the  President  are  suggestive  and  help- 
ful. The  leading  editors,  have  championed  the  right  of  Ireland  to 
representative  government.  The  leading  members  of  Congress  are 
in  genuine  sympathy  with  our  most  cherished  hopes.  The  men  of 
thought  and  action,  who  smashed  the  fetters  of  the  slave,  are  the 
devoted  friends  of  Irish  emancipation. 

"We  appeal  to  you  to-night — is  there  a  man  among  you  who  thinks 
that  Ireland  has  not  been  sufficiently  degraded  in  her  honor  and  her 
rights  to  justify  her  now  in  fiercely  turning  upon  her  oppressor  ? 
No,  a  man  so  infamous  cannot  tread  the  earth ;  or,  if  he  does,  the 
voice  of  the  coward  is  stifled  in  the  dear,  wild,  ringing  shout  that 
leaps  from  hill  to  hill ;  that  echoes  from  sea  to  sea ;  that  peals  from 
the  lips  of  an  uprisen  nation — "  We  must  be  free." 

By  the  memory  of  Fitzgerald,  brave  as  a  lion,  gentle  as  a  lamb ; 
by  the  memory  of  the  brothers  Sheares,  hung  on  the  same  scaffold ; 
by  the  memory  of  Wolf  Tone,  the  first  to  organize  Irishmen  against 
the  tyrant;  by  the  memory  of  the  multitudes  of  revered  men, 
murdered  by  England ;  by  the  memory  of  Monroe  and  his  gallant 
compatriots  whose  heads  were  spiked  and  impaled ;  by  the  memory 
of  Orr,  the  first  to  give  his  life  for  Union,  and  Emmett,(  the  last  to 
seal  it  with  his  blood  ;  by  the  memory  of  the  recent  gallant  victims 
of  British  oppression,  let  us  swear  by  our  hopes  of  immortality,  not 
only  to  break  the  fetters  of  Ireland,  but  try  to  raise  her  to  a  glorious 
elevation — defend  her,  liberate  her,  enable  her,  sanctify  her. 


29 


The  Publisher  appends  a  brief  sketch  of  the  life  of  the  author, 
furnished  by  the  talented  correspondent  of  "The Pilot"  Laffan: 

The  Peppers  of  Ireland  are  of  Angelo-Norman  stock.  John 
D' Alton  traces  them  back  to  the  period  of  the  invasion.  In  the 
ranks  of  the  followers  of  Richard  de  Claire,  or  Clare,  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke and  Strigue,  nicknamed,  like  his  father  before  him,  Strongboy, 
were  representatives  of  the  Pippards  or  Peppers  of  Devonshire, 
England.  Camden,  and  in  our  own  times,  Dean  Butler,  credit  a 
William  Peppard,  Pipard,  or  Pepper,  with  the  erection  of  the  origi- 
nal Castle  of  Trim,  Co.  Meath.  It  was  rebuilt  in  the  13th  century. 
Sir  Richard  Colt  Hoare,  in  his  Tour  in  Ireland,  described  the 
decaying  structure  as  the  only  edifice  in  the  country  worthy  of  the 
name  of  Castle.  In  an  historical  point  of  view,  it  is  one  of  the  most 
important  buildings  in  Ireland.  It  "  proves  of  great  utility  to  the 
general  interest  of  the  Pale,  to  which  the  influence  of  the  English 
was  for  many  ages  confined."  Several  of  the  Anglo-Irish 
parliaments  met  there.  "During  the  intestine  wars  of  the  17th 
century  "  it  was  repeatedly  the  scene  of  important  actions.  It  was 
dismantled  soon  after  the  year  1650  ;  and  it  has  ever  since  remained 
in  a  state  of  progressive  decay." 

These  Pippards  or  Peppers  were  somewhat  famous  in  Anglo-Irish 
annals  as  founders  of  castles,  monasteries,  etc.,  especially  in  and  near 
Ardee,  Co.  Louth,  of  which  Roger  de  Pipard  obtained  a  grant  soon 
after  the  invasion.  Ralph  de  Pipard  surrendered  the  manor  to 
Edward  I.  A  grant  of  it  was  made  by  Edward  II.  to  Sir  John 
Birmingham,  subsequently  created  Earl  of  Louth.  The  Pippards, 
descendants  of  Roger,  were  long  known  as  Lords  of  Ardee,  or 
Athirdee. 

Among  the  Catholic  families  of  note  in  Dublin,  who,  by  partici- 
pating in  the  famous  Irish  Insurrection  of  1641,  incurred  the  penalty 
of  forfeiture  of  their  estates,  was  a  branch  of  the  Peppards.  Though 
Gilbert,  in  his  History  of  the  city  of  Dublin,  makes  no  mention  of 
them,  D'Alton,  in  his  County  History  notices  them. 


30 

When  James  II.  granted,  in  1689,  a  charter  to  Dragheda,  Igna- 
tius Pippard  was  Mayor,  and  two  of  his  name  were  aldermen,  and 
three,  burgesses,  of  the  city.  They,  like  nearly  all  of  their  name 
and  blood  in  Ireland,  were  Catholics ;  and  by  their  adhesion  to  the 
fortunes  of  King  James  they  became  practically  outlaws  in  their  native 
land,  having  been  attainted  by  the  representatives  of  the  alien 
William  of  Orange. 

George  Pepper,  who  was  editorially  identified  with  the  Pilot,  in 
its  earliest  years,  and  who,  besides  his  various  editorial  labors, 
commenced  the  publication  of  a  really  meritorious  History  of  Ireland, 
which  he  lived  only  to  bring  down  to  about  the  period  of  the  invasion, 
was  a  native  of  the  County  Louth.  His  birth  place  was  Tallistown, 
near  Ardee.  "He  died  in  Boston  [May  11,  1837,  at  the  age  of  45 
years]  of  a  violent  cold  and  fever,  caught  from  stripping  off  his  coat 
to  cover  some  unfriended  countryman  of  his  own."* 

Rev.  Geo.  W.  Pepper,  author  of  the  very  eloquent  address  on 
Ireland's  Martyrs,  which  was  published  in  full  in  the  Pilot,  some 
weeks  since,  is  also  a  native  of  the  Green  Isle.  He  was  educated 
partly  at  the  Royal  Belfast  Academical  Institution,  and  partly  at 
Glasgow. 

In  his  native  land,  he  won  honorable  distinction,  as  an  earnest  and 
eloquent  advocate  of  the  cause  of  temperance.  To  him,  belonged 
the  honor  of  having  founded  there,  the  Maine  Law  League,  of 
which  he  was,  for  two  years,  corresponding  secretary.  He  had  a 
sharp  controversy  on  the  subject  of  legal  prohibition  with  Dennis 
Holland,  Esq.,  then  editor  of  the  Ulsterman.  He  succeeded  in 
calling  attention  to  the  terrible  evils  of  intemperance  and  the  neces- 
sity of  adopting  some  measures  to  prohibit  the  indiscriminate  sale  of 
liquors.  The  first  grand  meeting,  under  the  auspices  of  the  Maine 
Law  League,  was  held  in  Belfast,  which  was  attended  by  the  well 
known  Philanthropists  of  Dublin,  James  Haughton  and  Richard 
Allen.  The  organization  of  branch  societies  became  quite  popular. 
Mr.  Pepper  was  appointed  a  delegate  to  the  mass  meeting,  held  in 
Manchester  in  1853,  at  which  were  present,  John  Bright,  Richard 
Cobden,  James  Silk  Buckingham  (an  author  of  numerous  books  of 
travels,  and  an  old  friend  and  correspondent  of  Mathew  Carey,  of 
Philadelphia)  who  cast  all  their  weight  and  influence  in  favor  of  the 
temperance  reform. 

*  Mooney's  History  of  Ireland,  published  by  Mr.  Donahoe,  vol.  I,  p.  126. 


31 

Mr.  Pepper  had  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  the  rapid  spread  of 
temperance  principles  in  Ulster,  before  he  left  his  native  country,  in 
which,  politically,  he  had  been  in  active  connection  and  sympathy 
with  the  Repeal  Agitators ;  and,  subsequently  with  the  Young 
Irelanders,  of  which  latter  party  he  knew  and  loved  many  of  the 
leaders. 

He  first  met  and  became  acquainted  in  Belfast,  with  the  lamented 
Maj.  Gen.  Meagher,  whose  friendship  Mr.  Pepper  thereafter  enjoyed 
without  interruption  up  to  the  time  of  the  terribly  sudden  death  of 
his  beloved  young  chief,  who,  while  living  in  Montana,  kept  up  an 
interesting  correspondence  with  his  friend,  Chaplain  Pepper.  So 
warmly  was  the  noble  Meagher  esteemed  by  Mr.  Pepper,  that  the 
latter  had  one  of  his  children  christened  in  honor  of  the  fallen  hero. 
In  a  very  affecting  letter,  recently  received  by  a  friend,  Mr  Pepper 
thus  touchingly  mentions  his  beloved  chief :  "  I  loved  him  living, 
and  mourn  him  dead.  Peace  to  his  ashes,  and  honor  to  his  beautiful 
memory.  In  all  my  addresses,  even  in  my  sermons,  I  occasionally 
introduce  his  name." 

Mr.  Pepper  emigrated  to  the  United  States  in  1854;  and  imme- 
diately entered  Kenyon  College,  Ohio,  for  the  purpose  of  studying 
theology.  In  due  time,  he  was  ordained  a  minister  of  the  Methodist 
Episcopal  Church  ;  and  during  the  few  years  preceding  the  com- 
mencement of  the  Civil  War  he  served  his  church,  most  zealously, 
in  the  missionary  field  of  labor. 

On  the  outbreak  of  the  late  civil  war,  in  1861,  as  an  enthusiastic 
Irish-American,  devoted — like  the  mass  of  his  element  in  these 
States — to  the  union  and  institutions  of  his  adopted  country,  Mr. 
Pepper,  minister  though  he  was  of  the  Gospel  of  peace,  felt  obliged 
by  his  convictions  and  duty  to  give  all  the  aid  in  his  power  to  his 
government.  He  recruited  several  hundred  men  for  the  loyal  armies. 
He  was  chosen  captain  of  a  company  of  infantry,  and  chaplain 
of  his  regiment,  80th  Ohio  volunteers,  at  the  same  time.  He 
declined  the  chaplaincy,  and  led  his  company  into  the  field  of  action. 
During  the  campaigns  in  the  Mississippi  Valley,  he  was  disabled, 
and  forced  to  resign  the  command  of  his  devoted  band  of  "  soldiers 
of  freedom."  His  resignation  had  been  scarcely  accepted,  when  he 
was  unanimously  elected  chaplain  of  the  regiment  for  the  second 
time.  As  chaplain,  he  continued  with  the  command  to  the  close  of 
the  war.     He  participated  in  the  great  "  March  to  the  Sea,"  and 


32 

thence  northward  through  the  Carolinas  and  Virginia,  of  the  army 
of  General  Sherman.  Of  this  famous  "  flanking  movement,"  he 
wrote  and  published  an  interesting  history,  which  has  been  highly 
commended  by  Secretary  Stanton,  as  also  by  Major  Generals  Logan, 
Howard,  McCook,  and  others. 

About  a  ^ar  since,  Mr.  Pepper,  on  the  recommendation  of  his 
personal  friend,  and  fellow  Irish- American,  was  made  a  chaplain  of 
the  Regular  Army,  and  assigned  to  duty  on  the  field  staff  of  the  40th 
U.  S.  Infantry.  The  appointment  was  given  to  him  in  consideration 
of  his  personal  gallantry  in  several  battles,  and  indefatigable  devotion 
to  the  sick  in  hospitals,  &c. 

As  an  Irish-American,  of  warm  and  generous  impulses,  Mr. 
Pepper  has  taken  a  deep  interest  in  the  movement  of  the  Fenians  to 
release  and  exalt  their  down-trodden  fatherland.  He  met  with  much 
hostility  from  his  Church,  and  also  from  its  Bishops,  ministers, 
members  and  newspaper  writers,  because  of  his  military  propensities, 
his  devotion  to  the  cause  of  the  Union ;  and,  above  and  beyond  all 
else,  because  of  his  active  sympathy  with  the  Irish  Republican 
leaders.  His  motives  were  impugned  ;  his  character  was  assailed ; 
and,  to  "  cap  the  climax  "  of  abuse,  he  was  invidiously  denounced  as 
"a  Jesuit  in  disguise."  Nevertheless,  he  kept  on  his  way  unflinching- 
ly, and  ultimately  so  completely  triumphed  over  all  opposition,  that 
he  had  the  gratification  of  witnessing  the  adoption,  by  a  whole 
conference  of  two  hundred  Methodist  preachers,  with  its  presiding 
Bishop,  of  a  series  of  resolutions  written  by  himself,  and  expressive 
of  sympathy  with  the  Fenians  in  Ireland. 

In  the  agitation  relative  to  the  rights  of  naturalized  citizens,  now 
in  progress,  Chaplain  Pepper  has  taken  an  active  part.  He  has 
been  in  constant  correspondence  on  the  subject,  and  on  the  kindred 
topic  of  the  sufferings  and  claims  of  his  race,  with  Senators  and 
Representatives  ;  and  with  officials  of  high  rank  generally,  including 
Senators  Wilson  and  Chandler,  Representative  Logan  and  Chief 
Justice  Chase.  In  this  way,  though  in  official  employment  in  the 
military  service  of  his  adopted  country,  he  has  endeavored  to  the 
utmost  of  his  fine  ability,  yet  limited  opportunity,  to  discharge  his 
obligations  to  his  native  land. 

The  headquarters  of  his  command  having  been,  for  some  time 
past,  at  Goldsboro,  N.C.,  this  eloquent  Irish- American  there  made 
it  his  duty  to  deliver  in  the  presence  of  an  alien  body,  and  in  a 
Baptist  church,  the  magnificent  discourse  which  entitles  him  to  the 
lasting  gratitude  of  his  "  countrymen  in  exile."  His  noble  "record" 
is  eulogy  most  meet  for  this  gifted,  zealous,  and  patriotic  Irish - 
American. 


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